


Facade

by Bordeaux_at_dusk



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Case Fic, M/M, Slow Burn, Thriller, Victorian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28962837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bordeaux_at_dusk/pseuds/Bordeaux_at_dusk
Summary: It's 1885, in the height of the Victorian era.Gavin Reed, a gruff former American frontiersman turned detective, struggles to navigate the complex social structures of Victorian London. He works with a secret team of unusual people to investigate common issues of the era: Tina Chen, a crossdressing lesbian detective disguised as their secretary; the ever-hidden Inspecter Fowler, a secretive and brilliant mastermind who remains out of the public eye due to his risk of persecution; Hank Anderson, a deeply traumatized investigator with a dark past; and a young man named Connor, who seems to have connections to a relentlessly tricky criminal underworld.As the case progresses, Gavin gets closer and closer to unraveling the events around a strange organized crime leader who goes by the nickname Nines...
Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Comments: 12
Kudos: 23





	1. Prologue: The Men In The Street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to a brand new story! This one inspired by the Victorian Era and classic whodunnits.  
> Obviously due to the time period, a lot of these characters are struggling against racism or sexism or homophobia or other sorts of intolerance. I'm going to try and make it a big part of their characters without being too "realistic" about drowning them in sorrow-- because that doesn't feel very fun or empowering to read, and there's no way I can inflict period-accurate horrible things on them.  
> So obviously, no racial or homophobic slurs or other types of extreme prejudice, even if that's "period accurate". And the characters get to have fun and be cool and powerful in their own ways. Even if it's not "realistic" for Fowler or Tina to be in their positions, it's way more enjoyable for everybody, and honestly if I cared too much about historical accuracy I wouldn't be writing fan-fiction on the internet to begin with.  
> You guys will have fun watching me dodge bullets all fic, though, lmao.

Two men stood outside the pub, low-lit, their faces covered in the darkness. 

“Any news?” the first asked. Even hidden, he was intimidating-- a composed spectacle of a man, graceful and dark. 

“Some,” the second replied, the voice strangely high. “They’ve hired an American.” 

The first snorted. “I’m not sure what use _that’s_ going to be.” 

“He’s very intelligent.” 

“Oh, I’m sure,” the first said, “for an American.” 

The second shifted. “Don’t get overzealous. Lesser men have brought down stronger foes than you.” 

“Of course, but they were not _American_.” 

“This is _not_ a time for jests. If I’m discovered--” 

“You won’t be.” 

“My position is already precarious as it is--”

“Your position is secure.” 

“Oh, as secure as it ever is, of course!” 

“You’re valuable to the coppers. They’ll leave you be.” 

“My position is not half as invulnerable as _you_ make it seem.” 

The first man smiled. “Yet you still possess it.” 

The second huffed. “I don’t have time for foolishness. The consequences are steep and some, _sir,_ can afford them more than others.” 

“Consequences are a natural part of life.” 

“As is death,” the second man remarked as he turned away, “and yet we all prefer to avoid _that_.” 

The first man reached out a hand. “Wait.” 

The second paused. 

The first continued. “I apologize, I shouldn’t make fun. Please, tell me what you know of this American detective.” 

“His name is Reed.” 

“Reed?”

“Yes. Reed. And he’s good. That’s all I know.” 

“No rumors drifting about?” 

“He likes to drink, but what man in Scotland Yard doesn’t?”

“I see.” The first man mused over this. 

“They say he has ideas about how things should be done.” 

“What sort of ideas?” 

“The peculiar kind. The unconventional kind. He’s something of an… eccentric. They say he hates how the brass is run.” 

The first man snorted. “Well, he’ll be at home in the pubs, then.” 

“ _Goodbye,_ sir,” the second man hissed without humor, and faded into the night. 

The first man leaned back on his heels, and, deep in thought, followed suit.

  
  



	2. A Lucky Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, believe it or not, "rude" for the time period.  
> Tina is a queen.  
> Gavin is an idiot, as per usual.

Detective Gavin Reed was lost. 

The streets of England were confusing. For one thing, the buildings were much older than anything they had in America; for another, he could barely understand some of the people passing by, who did _not_ talk, as he’d been led to believe, in the same proper accent that Englishman were known for; and perhaps the most damning, everything was packed and crowded. Gavin still wasn’t used to being in so-called “proper” civilization. 

The only thing he hated more than England was its manners. 

The sour taste in his mouth grew more and more as he stumbled around brick buildings and laundry lines and children playing in the mud. He had already disliked the country _before_ setting foot there-- it was Gavin’s opinion that America should be as un-English as possible (which it was already failing to accomplish)-- but this brave new world had confirmed it. 

Pushed by desperation, he darted down a narrow alleyway, rushed out into a cobblestone square, careened around a corner, and ran straight into a woman. 

Gavin almost swore in shock and surprise, but caught himself just in time. 

“ _Sir!”_ the disheveled woman scolded, bending down to pick up the papers she’d dropped. 

“Sorry,” he said, kneeling to help. 

He stopped in surprise. The papers in his hand were addressed to Scotland Yard. 

The woman snatched them out of his hand, fury contained-- but just barely. 

“Thank you for your _assistance,”_ she hissed at him. 

Gavin blinked. 

She stood up, put her nose in the air, and began to stalk away. 

“Wait, ma’am-” 

She turned to face him, cheeks flushing red with anger. 

Introductions were a point of extreme etiquette-- for him to introduce himself to her, alone on the street, was not only rude but bordering on dangerous. A young woman seen alone with a man she didn’t know sometimes fell victim to scandal and rumor. Social circles were maintained with a vengeance, and enforced by class and reputation.

He had never been polite. 

Gavin held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I need to find Scotland Yard. I’m a detective.” 

Her anger turned to astonishment, and she took a second to examine him, eyes sweeping up and down. He did the same. 

The woman was small, but held herself with a confidence lacking in much larger men-- long black hair was coiled in a utilitarian bun at the nape of her neck, her clothes were simple and boyish, and she was pretty in a masculine way. There was a hint of un-englishness in her face that made Gavin like her immediately. 

“ _You’re_ the notorious Detective Reed?” she asked. 

Gavin inclined his head in his best approximation of manners.

She countered his awkward half-bow with an equally painful curtsy. 

“Miss Tina Chen,” she said, as a means of her own introduction. “I’ll escort you to Scotland Yard, sir. I’m something of a secretary.” 

  
  



	3. Unofficial Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Women actually were used as spies/undercover agents sometimes because they could get into situations that men couldn’t and were often underestimated. However, they weren’t given nearly as much respect as their male counterparts.   
> Asking about how much money someone makes in public is another social mistake on Gavin’s part.

“A secretary?” Gavin asked, following Tina, who was trailing ahead with fierce determination. 

“Yes,” she said, lips pressing into a thin line. “In all official terms.” 

“And in the unofficial ones?” 

A hint of a smile. “Well, sir, I can’t say in good conscience. I’m an extra pair of ears, that’s all.” 

“You’ve done detective work?” 

The smile was replaced with a frown. “No. No, I’m not allowed.” 

“But you’ve done it?” 

She glanced at him. 

Gavin raised his hands, again, in a gesture of surrender. “I think you’d be good, is all.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Now _that,_ sir, is a very unconventional idea.” 

“I’m full of them. You can get into places I can’t, and eavesdrop easier. You’re practical and intelligent and not at all polite. And no one would suspect a woman detective--” 

“Thus my _unofficial_ work, sir.” 

Gavin smiled. “We’ll have to use that, then. How much do you get paid?” 

“Detective Reed, need I remind you we’re in public?” 

“Sorry. No more ideas.” 

There was a moment of silence. They walked side by side, keeping a generous distance in between. 

“You’re a kind man,” Tina finally replied, “if a bit of a fool.” She smiled at him. 

“I’m afraid I fall short of both, ma’am. I’m too smart to be a fool and too rude to be a gentleman.”

She laughed. “No need to remind me: I suffered your introduction. And look! Here we are, Scotland Yard.”

They stood in front of an impressive, windowed building of white brick. All around them, policemen in uniform were coming and going-- detectives and constables and beat-coppers in their blue trenchcoats. 

“Thankfully,” Tina remarked, heading past it, “It’s a bit overcrowded, so our offices are nearby. Much more spacious, and we keep out of the way. I hear they’re going to arrange a transfer of headquarters soon, but they’ve been saying that for years.”

“Does that also help with your _unofficial_ activities?” Gavin asked. 

She stiffened. “It does. There are many men here who disapprove of working women. If my being a secretary is so terrible, well-- you can only imagine the reaction if I was outed as a more _engaged_ member of the law. And if you’re fond of unconventional law enforcement, Mr. Reed, I must say you’ll love our hidden Inspector.” 

“Hidden Inspector?” 

“Yes,” Tina said. “We have an Inspector who reports to Scotland Yard, and we have a man who directs us… _unofficially_. He would be well past an Inspector if circumstances allowed for it.” She made a beeline for a small building just past the white brick. 

  
  



	4. The Hidden Inspector

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously these are not the words people in the Victorian era would use to discuss race (if they did much at all) but the alternative is throwing the racial slurs and offensive language they DID use in there which I am NOT doing. This is a fanfic, not a historically accurate drama. We have fun here. 
> 
> I'm gonna try and strike a fine line between making this a fun story and also not romanticizing the time period too much, y'all. Bear with me please. It didn't feel right to just ignore how bad things were, but I'm also working hard to make these characters fight against their shitty circumstances. I hope it comes out all right....

“Why do circumstances not allow for it?” Gavin asked, training behind Tina. 

She pursed her lips. “He is not an Englishman, nor lucky enough to pass for one.” 

“Ah,” Gavin said. ‘Unfortunate. I’m lucky in that regard.” 

She glanced at him. “Indeed. English blood makes things easier.” 

“I meant that I pass well enough. My grandfather is from Mexico, and my mother is what they call an Indian, a native. Luckily, no one expects frontier boys to be light-skinned. If anyone asks, I just give some excuse about the sun in the west, and they’re none the wiser. ” 

Tina glanced at him in surprise. “That’s something we have in common then, Detective. My family is Chinese. If- if you’ll pardon my curiosity--” 

“Yes,” Gavin replied, anticipating the question. “It’s common. When you get out West, many of the cowboys and frontiersmen are not englishmen.” 

“Are their circumstances a little better than here?” 

Gavin went very quiet. 

“No,” he said finally. 

“Oh,” said Tina, and fell silent. 

The tension lingered in the air, and they both seemed lost in memory for a few moments.

“Better than being English,” Gavin quipped to break the tension, and Tina laughed.

They walked up the building, a small red-brick facade with a no-nonsense feel to it. Gavin tried his hand at manners again by holding the door. 

She smirked at him. “ _ My, _ what a gentleman. I can almost forget he ruined my papers.” 

“Never, my lady,” Gavin shot back. “I hear ruining papers is a capital offense.” 

She snorted in a way that was less than ladylike, and he followed her into the building. 

The inside was well-lit and comfortable, but had a polished, professional feel that kept any hint of  _ home  _ away. Tina led him past an ancient front desk ( _ that old thing creaks like a devil, Detective) _ through a common room ( _ we have tea here every day at 2:00 _ ) and down a long hallway to a door with a frosted glass pane. 

Tina rapped her knuckles against it. “Sir, a Detective Reed here to see you.” 

There was a pause. 

A deep, cultured voice answered. “I believe you want the Inspector, Miss Chen.” 

Tina glanced at Gavin. “He knows, sir. Detective Reed is an unconventional man.” 

Another pause. 

“Very well,” the voice said. “You may enter.” 

Tina opened the door and gestured for Gavin to go in. 

Gavin stepped inside, and immediately saw the need for secrecy. The hidden Inspector was a strong, imposing man with a closely shaved head and a serene face. His dark skin was the color of polished oak. He watched every movement with eyes that seemed to miss nothing. 

“Detective Reed,” he said, extending a hand. “It’s a pleasure.” 

Gavin shook it. “Likewise, sir.” 

The man seemed to find that response satisfactory, as a bit of his stiffness waned. 

“I am Fowler,” he said, “the so-called Hidden Inspector. I believe we have work for you.” 

  
  



	5. Outcasts, Taboos, and Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fowler is a bona fide badass, and what he talks about is still an issue today.   
> Secret societies are ironically common in this time period, what with the rise of spiritualism and all. 
> 
> I've been having trouble writing thrillers lately with all the law enforcement trouble. So I said "fuck it, I'm gonna make my own private detective group, and it's gonna be awesome." Secret queer anti-racist victorian detective squad, unite.
> 
> Thanks to Cotta, mangledmess, bykova, Pacificat_Pavlin, and a guest for the kudos!  
> Special thanks to mangledmess for their kind comment!

Gavin glanced towards Tina, but she had already gone, shutting the door behind her. 

“What sort of work, sir?” he asked Fowler. 

Fowler turned, looking out a small window set in the far wall of the room. He clasped his fingers behind his back as if deep in thought. 

“I am by all rights an English gentleman,” he said. “My great-great grandfather came to this country. My family has lived here for five generations. I am descended from a lord, and I am wealthy. Yet I cannot even run a small sect of law enforcement in public. Why?” 

Gavin paused. 

Fowler turned to face him, eyes hard, determined. “Because my great-great grandfather, Detective, was from Africa, and thus my blood is tainted forever. No matter that I have spoken nothing but English since I was born- no matter that any history of my people on that side has been wiped from memory forever-- no matter that I am intelligent, and logical, and good. I am forever a brute, yes? Me and my great-great father’s people, and everyone else descended from them.” 

Gavin managed to speak. “To others, sir, but you don’t seem so to me.” 

“And why is that? Because they called your mother a savage? Because you’ve witnessed cruelty yourself?” 

Gavin cleared his throat. “Yes.” 

“And who stood up for you, Detective Reed? Or should I call you ‘mister’, Since we both know you are no longer a detective in your own country.” 

There was a long moment of silence. 

Gavin spoke. “No one. I tried to do it myself, sir.” 

“And what did you do?” 

Gavin’s fists clenched. He stood silent. 

“I tried to help them,” he said. 

Fowler nodded, and the tension in his body twisted even tighter. 

“You _helped,_ Detective-- against the law enforcement that employed you. You helped the people no one else would, because you yourself are one of them.” 

“I failed. We were caught-” 

“But you _did_ help. And that, Detective Reed, is what I need you to do here. You’ve already met Miss Chen. You’re meeting me at the moment. You’ll soon meet Mr. Anderson. Do we strike you as the typical Scotland Yard detectives?” 

Gavin shook his head, entranced by the man’s animated presence. 

“No. We, Detective, are a group of outcasts and taboos _masquerading_ as a sleepy little branch of Scotland Yard that nobody ever calls upon. We are a secret society for human good. We solve the cases no one else looks twice at. The prostitute murdered for her body, the African killed for his skin, the homosexual tortured for his lover. We are not an english organization-- we are a _human_ one, perhaps the first ever. And though we are small, we will grow.”

Gavin stood dumbfounded, unsure what to say. He had always considered something like this to be impossible.

Fowler turned to face him.

“Welcome, Detective,” he said, “to the one and only Facade. I _do_ hope you have the courage to join us."

  
  



	6. The Bold and the Brutal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to start committing to adding a "historical context" section at the start of each of these lmao, considering how often I've been doing it anyway.  
> America was at this point much wilder and untamed than Europe and... actually still is. We have a lot of wilderness around. The conflict between man and nature was a major theme of this time period-- especially for a frontiersman.  
> Some frontiersmen were progressive for their era in topics like race and protecting the natural world due to 1) a lot of interaction with Native Americans and other PoC on the frontier, and 2) a lot of interaction with nature.  
> (Of course, as we all know, the progressive ones were not a majority.)  
> But Davy Crockett, (American folk hero, frontiersman, and the famed "King of the Wild Frontier",) HATED Andrew Jackson (the infamous president who ordered the Trail of Tears) specifically because of his terrible abuse towards Native Americans and mentality towards possessing land, for the exact reasons I explained above. So we know it wasn't too uncommon-- especially since Crockett was a member of Congress, and made his anger about the Trail of Tears and the mentality of "possessing" land VERY clear to everyone involved, lmao. 
> 
> Special thanks to byami, samdancer, tofillaprompt, and Orangebubble for the kudos!

Tina showed Gavin to his room, smirking. 

“I _knew_ you’d accept,” she said, leading him up a twisting staircase towards an upper floor of the building. 

Gavin looked around at the banisters in disbelief. “My office is up three flights of stairs?” 

Tina glanced back and laughed. “No. Your office is on the ground floor. Your _room,_ Detective, is up three flights of stairs.” 

“I’m sleeping in the building?” 

“It’s all owned by Mr. Fowler. His wealth is absurd, although he has to downplay it to avoid suspicion. We operate in secret, but our personal lives are hidden as well. There’s not a member of this team that isn’t keeping something from the public.” 

“What secrets might a certain Miss Chen hold?”

She waved a hand. “No more of that. Call me Tina. And don’t flirt, please-- it doesn’t become you.” 

“ _Very_ bold of you, assuming I’m interested.” 

“Bold is my one dependable personality trait, Gavin-- or am I stuck calling you ‘Detective’ forever?”

“I think ‘Your Majesty’ will do well enough.” 

“Gavin it is.” 

They continued on, bickering back and forth in an amiable way, until they reached his room. It was plain and comfortable-- soft bed, wide window, solid floors, a sturdy desk, and a single potted orchid by the window. 

“I added the orchid,” Tina said. “I thought you could use _something_ halfway decent, being a terrible bore and a rude American to boot.” 

“Only a day and you know me so well,” Gavin muttered, squinting at the orchid. 

“Oh, leave it. It’ll help attract young ladies.” 

“Then I should throw it out the window.” 

“You wouldn't dare.” 

“I thought I was a wild, untamed American. I’m not above murdering a potted plant.” 

“Is orchid-killing a common pastime in the New World?”

“Yes,” Gavin muttered bitterly, running a finger along the windowsill. “Murdering anything natural is a common pastime of the New World.” 

She cursed under her breath, and he looked at her in astonishment. 

“Oh, I can’t laugh at that,” she explained. “You said it so seriously. Is that real?” 

“I’m not clever enough to joke about anything else besides reality.” 

“Well, you have the night off to practice.” She inclined her head in the same awkward half-curtsy she’d greeted him with, and disappeared behind the door. 

Gavin glanced around the room. 

“You can stay,” he whispered to the orchid, “only if you promise not to bring any ladies.”

The orchid said nothing, and Gavin retired for the night, lost in old memories. 

  
  



	7. The World Is Dark, the World is Mad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to BoarofKnowhows for the kudos!

_ Gavin was in the dark, dense forests of the American north. It was cold and wild-- wilder than England had been for a thousand years. The trees stretched overhead, towering. He shivered against the cold. The taste of white pine bark was in his mouth.  _

_ He instinctively took stock of his surroundings-- the white pines were good-- he could make tea with the needles. There would be game in this area. He could set lures-- but he had no pack, no equipment.  _

_ A moment of panic.  _

_ He would  _ never  _ go into the north without his pack. Where had it gone?  _

_ His surroundings changed again.  _

_ He saw his mother-- her high cheekbones and calm eyes. _

_ He saw his father-- his warm smile and sun-wrinkled skin. _

_ They sat at a campfire-- his mother on one side, father on the other.  _

_ His mother spoke in her language. He had never been able to speak it well, but he could understand it.  _

_ “A story is not a path,” she whispered. “It is a cycle.”  _

_ “Danger comes,” his father said in Spanish. _

_ “Blood on stone,” his mother agreed.  _

_ He reached out a hand. “Please don’t go.” _

_ “The world is dark.”  _

_ “The wind is cold, cold and mad.”  _

_ “Ma. Pa. Talk to me. Please.” _

_ “Blood of the earth, blood of the sand.”  _

_ “I see a bloodstained hand.”  _

_ “Ma…. Pa… if that really is you, then I’m sorry…” _

_ The world twisted again, and he was cold, colder than he had ever been. White snow stretched as far as he could see.  _

_ Yet he was not a frontiersman for nothing. He dug himself a burrow in the snow, moving rapidly, body temperature dropping more and more. He was wearing proper clothes, at least.  _

_ He crawled into the entrance, and curled into a ball in the hollow within. _

_ Here, life in danger, away from the complexities of civilization, he could finally breathe. The need for survival had filled his head with white-hot clarity.  _

_ “N-no,” he whispered to death. “No.” _

_ That was a frontiersman’s livelihood-- to survive. _

  
  



	8. A Poor Man With Bad Intentions

Gavin woke. 

Sweat stained the bedsheets. 

He was sweltering hot. He pushed the blankets off and stood, muscles spasming. He stomped one leg, and then the other. Left arm, right arm. He bounced on his heels, shaking out his entire body. The spasms vanished. Leftovers from malnutrition, a doctor had told him, in the old days. The effects of the wilderness would never really leave. 

He glanced around the room. Warm light was streaming in through the windows. A sunny day-- rare in this country, he had been told. 

He rose, splashed water on his face, took a moment to comb his fingers through his hair, and shaved. It was about as much of an effort as he was capable of making. 

People didn’t care much about appearance where he was from. 

As much as he despised fashion, he should probably ask Tina about getting new clothes. His were stained and worn, intended more for travel and the outdoors than polite society-- aside from the white shirt, trousers, and morning coat he’d bought when he signed on as a Detective in America. There was no uniform for law enforcement in the New World, but he couldn’t walk everywhere dressed as a frontiersman, even in that country. It was useful to blend in with the city boys when he had to. 

He laid the morning coat and clothes out and stared at them. 

They carried bad memories, and stared back. 

Gavin folded them up, threw them back in his trunk, and wore the poorer ones instead. 

He stepped out of his room and glanced around. 

Voices were coming from down the hall. 

He followed them, instinctively walking in the soft footsteps of a man who doesn’t want to be heard, as if he were stalking a deer. The voices grew louder as he approached them. 

“We must find the identity of this man,” Fowler’s voice was saying. 

“I don’t think he’s much of a threat to us,” Tina’s soprano shot back.

“He’s a liability, and liabilities are to be  _ controlled _ , Miss Chen.” 

“I thought so too, until-” 

“Until he appeared out of the rain just in time to assist you? His timing is impeccable.”

“We don’t know he’s dangerous in nature-” 

“He is a leader of the criminal underworld. Whether or not he’s  _ nefarius  _ is up for debate; whether or not he’s  _ dangerous  _ is already decided. He is wealthy, and powerful, and his reputation precedes him.” 

“We could ask Connor-” 

“We  _ will  _ ask Connor,” Fowler muttered, “vigorously and at length.”

Tina sighed. 

“Don’t despair, Miss Chen,” Fowler said, voice growing softer. “I don’t doubt you. It’s the man I distrust. Trust me, my dear, when I say the wealthy are the ones you have to watch. A poor man with bad intentions can only get so far on his own-- such as our good Detective, who is eavesdropping in the hall at this very moment.” 

  
  



	9. Behind Green Baize Doors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Context:  
> The green baize doors were a real thing. The servants who would be seen in public, such as butlers, footmen, valets, lady's maids, and housekeepers, generally held more prestigious positions and would be dressed up. The servants who wouldn't, such as house, kitchen, and scullery maids, were considered lower on the social scale and stayed out of sight completely. Generally with nobility you needed servants to maintain the house and lifestyle of the upper class- in this case, we're stretching belief a little bit and assuming that everyone in our little gang lives simply enough to handle their own chores, or maybe they have a few people to help. Anyway, you had effectively a whole maze of rooms, hallways, and even kitchens and living quarters hidden away in secret areas of the house. (This is why the servants in Downton Abbey are so physically separated from the nobility, and why they plot in hallways so much.)
> 
> The penny press was also a real thing, just as described: early tabloids. They published murders and dramatic retellings of events with sketches and illustrations. Penny dreadfuls were fictional stories published by the penny press: adventure, romance, drama, and crime stories, which the victorians looked down on. They valued what we would think of as "good christian" morals and stories, and the sensationalist, dramatic, exciting nature of these stories went against the strict social mindset of the era. (This is why, in Little Women, Jo feels bad for publishing her "sensationalist" story in a paper, thinking that it goes against what's right.) Even stories such as the Picture of Dorian Gray were called sensationalist and immoral, despite the fact that the character gets his punishment in the end.

He’d been caught. 

Gavin grimaced and sulked out into the open. 

“You’re much more observant than deer,” he noted.

Fowler smiled. “Deer don’t have reflective surfaces, Detective.” 

He pointed to a bookshelf with glass-cases against the far wall. Gavin’s figure was a clear shadow against the silvery reflection of the hallway. 

Gavin grunted, rubbing his face. “I’ll have to get used to that. No mirrors in the wild. There any coffee?”

“I’m afraid not,” Fowler said, still smiling. “But there’s plenty of tea. Sit down. And if you’re planning on eavesdropping again, I highly recommend the green baize door.” 

“Baize?” Gavin glanced around. There was a door on the far wall, covered in a green fabric. He’d seen a few like it before, in wealthier houses, although he never spent enough time in them to know what they were for. 

“It’s to deaden noise. It divides the wealthy from the servants. Inside these walls, Detective, there is a network of corridors and hallways and storerooms and other such things that the servants use to get around-- as we all know, the wealthy can’t stand to see them.” 

“You have servants?” 

“No, we do our own work here. It’s for my peculiar advantage. When another man from Scotland Yard comes to consult or we invite a suspicious wealthy gentleman for tea, I  _ am  _ the servant. I can assure you, it’s excellent for eavesdropping. Perhaps the only advantage of being thought unintelligent is the fact that you are constantly underestimated.” 

“Fowler knows secrets that the penny press can only dream of,” Tina said through a mouthful of toast, shoveling sugar into her cup of tea. 

“Penny press?” 

Tina shoved a paper at him. “Tabloids. They’re wildly exaggerated, but they make a good place to look for misery, if you’re in the business of investigating it.” 

Gavin picked it up. The headline read, “BATHING BEAUTIES ATTACKED BY OCTOPUS.” It had a dramatic rendition of several scantily clad women screaming at a monstrous sea creature that in no way resembled an octopus.

“Ah,” he said. “Seems accurate.” 

“Well, until someone comes up with something better, it’s what we have.” 

Fowler reached over and grabbed the paper, examining it. 

As they returned to silence, another man opened the door and wandered in, bleary-eyed and lost. He was older, haggard, and visibly hungover. He looked so much the typical english detective that Gavin tensed, wondering if they’d been caught unawares. 

“Good morning, Inspecter,” Fowler said without even looking up from his newspaper. 

“G’ mornin’”, the man mumbled, sitting down with them. 

“Detective, may I introduce Inspector Anderson, the  _ public  _ face of our operation.” 

Anderson squinted at Gavin. 

Gavin squinted back. 

“I can see,” Fowler said, “that you’re going to get along famously.” 

  
  



	10. The Audacity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Context:  
> The police force was first given official uniforms and "shaped up" into some sort of reform in the early 1800's by Sir Robert Peele, which led to a chain reaction of police reform in Britain and America. Before this, the police were mainly night watchmen and more like men hired off the street to keep an eye on things. Corruption and police brutality were rampant-- the first officer to get a badge number in Britain was quickly fired for being drunk. The reforms helped somewhat with the corruption, but the police were still very much related to, and sometimes even in league with, organized crime. (If you watch Peaky Blinders which is actually set right AFTER this time period, you see a lot of the effects of this-- despite the push for reform, the police operate more like their own gang then a benevolent law enforcement presence, and have ties to the gang groups.) So the concept of policing, in this time period, are completely different from the concept of modern policing-- although obviously a lot of issues such as corruption and abuse are still relevant topics today.  
> I don't know how relevant or powerful the Pinkertons were at this time-- they'd hit their peak later infiltrating labor unions and breaking up strikes, which is a much less sympathetic motivation than they're typically portrayed, lol.  
> Alcoholism was rampant, incompetence was rampant-- and in terms of criminal justice, almost nothing was known. Forensics and what we would consider basic investigative procedures were in their absolute infancy, if they existed at all. A huge example is understanding the motivations for crime-- serial killers (due to their lack of a direct, personal motive for killing particular victims) wouldn't even begin to be understood from a criminal psychology viewpoint until the 70's. (Yes, the recent 70's! The TV show Mindhunter is about this.) 
> 
> Thanks to SkimbleShanks and 42Blueberries for the kudos!  
> Also, hello 42Blueberries! Don't think I forgot you from Mystique! :)
> 
> Thank you as well to Annyki and mangled mess for the kind comments!

Anderson turned his attention away from Gavin to grab toast. 

“We have,” he grumbled, “a bit of a mix-up with Chief Inspector Perkins.” 

“Ah,” Fowler said. “Unfortunate. We seem to have quite a few mix-ups with Chief Inspecter Perkins.” 

Anderson smeared butter on his toast, not looking up. “See, during the last raid on the Six-Cats, I had a bit too much whiskey--” 

“I’m ashamed of you, Inspector!” Fowler said, tone almost bored. 

Tina leaned over to Gavin. 

“The Six-Cats,” she whispered, “has a back room where men can dance with men and women can dance with women.” 

“Ah,” Gavin whispered back. “I assume you had to spoil the fun?” 

“You assume correctly. Luckily, Anderson is _notoriously_ incompetant.”

Anderson was still talking. “And some of the girls and boys meant to be taken in slipped out the back door.” 

“How will our police force survive such corruption?” 

Anderson waved a hand grumpily. “I’ll have to go play the fool for Perkins this morning.” 

“Drunk?” 

“Absolutely.” 

Tina straightened up in her chair. “Would you like a bruise? I still have some stage paint.” 

“Doesn’t Scotland Yard see through this?” Gavin interrupted. 

They all looked at him. He shrugged. 

“I mean, it all seems obvious. This is supposed to be one of the most dominant investigative forces in the world, although I’d argue that the Pinkertons-” 

“Detective Reed,” Fowler said. “It’s the obviousness that makes it brilliant. Think for a moment-- what’s more likely? That the perpetually drunk, incompetant, English Inspector of a small branch of Scotland Yard is actually not the _true_ Inspector but a pawn of a secretive wealthy mastermind of African descent who only _pretends_ to be a servant, aided by their Chinese secretary, who is in fact a skilled detective _and_ a remarkable actress-” 

“Those days are long gone,” Tina said, blushing a little. 

“-who excels in uncover work, and that the recent American hire they’re bringing on is, secretly, not just a prolific American detective but also a frontiersman with a heavy grudge against the English--” 

“Justified,” Gavin muttered.

“And that all of their numerous little mistakes and accidents are an illusion -- of which there are _many_ even among the best law enforcement, as until recently the police force was little more than a gang of their own--” 

“It still is, to be honest,” Tina said, “except there’s uniforms now.” 

“Or that this is all just as it seems, and due to incompetence? Who would have the _audacity_ to infiltrate and trick Scotland Yard-- and more importantly, who would have the skill?”


End file.
